Tag Archives: birds

Quite a Bit of Confusion Concerning the Night Without You

21 Jul

In the gloaming we sit on the porch.
The ghosts of bottles reach out
capturing the last of the sun
as the ground eats it. The forest
grows dark. Twigs point like
twisted bone fingers scaring
the last of the eating birds
away.

I roll two cigarettes slowly. I
reach out towards the distant
sunset. I hand Buck one as he
looks up from his notebook-
which contains the notes of
salvation for tomorrow’s
sermon. Voices yell inside
the kitchen, or maybe it
is the TV- that blue glass
teat someone suckles on
inside.

He talks to me of water
monsters, destroyers,
white mountain veils and
light bearers as messengers
of God. I reach out and
light his cigarette, and
light mine- a peacable
burning like the sun
weighed and divided
ashes scattered in
Babylon.

I listen to the metal
laughter of my watch
holding it up to my
ear. I look through
the window spying
dead blackandwhite
people. I wonder what
secrets their shadows
hold on the otherside
of time and that
thick
glass.

Dark trees argue
against a colored
sky as bats swoop
down and down in
the gold pink
sky cloud mountains
I could climb, and
Buck punctuates his
talk of-
Zealots,
Samaritans,
a place of troops,
gifts to Jehovah,
anointed rivers,
and a man
of the dart-
with his own
clouds.

I take the ring of
my finger and
send the bottle’s
crown tumbling
down in grace down
with the remnants
of the burnt ones-
burnt faces whom
God will strengthen-
yeah that’s what
he says. And I
make notes in my
my mind of the
whispers of trees
A crow flies on
the horizon as
John the neighbor’s
dog barks- maybe
later he’ll come over
and drink the last
of the good beer.

Though if John comes
he’ll talk about working
on old engines, and his
time out at sea. I’ve
got something else on
my mind. I wish you
weren’t watching the
crows groom themselves
behind your eyes
recovering.

Buck is talking about
Mattathias Hasmoneas slaying
a fellow jew attempting
a pagan sacrifice at the
altar in Modein when I
see John strolling
over with stories of
bannana boat suicides behind
his eyes.

Buck is talking
about the birds of heaven as
they shake hands. And I
say farewell to this fine
hot evening, but I am on
the verge of a bright insight
spinning my last coins and
swallowing the last of my
beer.

*Written for Poetics over at dVerse Poets Pub.

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Night Meditation Poetry Experiment #01 06252012

26 Jun

Listening to
bluebird highwaysongs
tonight-

“Sometimes I get too
sad when drinking-
look at that star
through the hole
in the forest
canopy.”

“It’s the bottom star
in the Big Dipper- the
ladle part.”

“Groovy, I never knew
that at all.”

“Oh, I’m an expert on
the big dipper.”

My favorite picture:
me at ten years old
with the dogs dressed
in my best Pops
impression-
walking in the
wintersnow on
the farm.

Your favorite picture:
me and my sister as
children- dressed up
for some reason- you
love my sunglasses &
blue suit. I am standing
there with my sister
in the side yard.

“How old did I look in that picture?”

“Between eleven & thirteen.”

A new year of new rivers,
a woman jogging
gorgeously in pink-
for a moment she
was Athena- like
that four hundred
pound cyclist
that day between
flying discs, ducks,
and music.

And we beat the watermelonsun
like a drum- it’s ripe- let me
know if my Grandmother was
right.
Always
(every)
days- how many has it in been?
171.
Remember that night in
a parking lot in love
fire’s burning flame
wetsand
and
strawberry
afternoons?

Believe:
blue routes
skymusic
a hawk flying
over a field-
a crow sitting on
a wire eating
a candy bar-
he gets it-
tiger roses
and my
love.

What does fall say
to the ground?

The stranger at your front
door is nature-
a man of constant sorrow
or
a madman on the boat
in a storm.

With you it is always a
a burning torch kind of light-
and there are rats on the
flood, vampires, and
always honest men
imagining morning.

 

Animals as a Nuisance

22 Oct

What would she say if I…

split open the kegs

of salted sprats?

with a thundering of

wings took off?

escaped from one

cage, and shut the window

of another?

was more or less transparent,

becoming opaque?

radiated the most gorgeous

colors that would gain in

depth and iridesence when

she approaches?

folded and unfolded my

beautiful crest following

her wherever she went?

became the inspiration of

poets and naturalists

alike?

ventured forth into realms

that she forbade?

Mouthfuls of Mountains in the Dark

14 May

Tonight you and mythology
both weigh heavily upon
my weary mind.

The last time I saw you
standing there in your
hand you held a bag
of ripshake smokedance.

Now the ebb tide carries
the nightbird into
Heracles Cavern
to drown along
with me.

I hear its gurgling cry
in the dark and cold.

It is always night here
underground
far
far
below you.

Tonight I learned
to see in the dark
one bite at a time
I ate the mountain
until my eyes
glowed.

Mouth Full Of Mountains Eyes Full Of Light

Another Plastic Bird Day

8 May

Branta canadensis Nesting

It was when Mother Bridge
took away (the) Alice’s loathing,
but everywhere out front
such a sight
did it not grin
and stop as if to say-
I will cooperate because
I’m selfish.

Little Water
said
“I’m going to shake
this place
belonging to manicures,
government,
fair sessions.”

Teeth make right
long numbers
mention a great
anything
or nothing at
all.